


Hold On

by Anonymous



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Injured Louis, Living Together, M/M, Piggybacks, Pre-Relationship, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29609874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Louis sprains his ankle playing football, and he's useless with his crutches. So when the fire alarm goes off as they're due to film a TV interview promoting their new album, there's really only one choice for a quick exit.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31
Collections: Anonymous





	Hold On

**Author's Note:**

> Set vaguely when they were living together, but I'm not 100% on my timelines. This assumes the boys are not together at that point, which, yes - unrealistic :D But hey, the whole point of this is it's all fiction. Rating for swearing only.

They were lucky it happened now. It would have been luckier, of course, if Louis had never twisted his ankle playing football, but the idea of it happening on tour - with its cramped plane rides and slamming into the bus bunk walls every time Steve turned a corner - was unthinkable. Or even, god forbid, crutches sliding on a wet stage, Louis wiping out with his sprain freshly knocked and new bruises forming, face screwed up in pain. Or even just Louis propped in the middle as they run about around him having fun, feeling left out and sinking into grumpiness - well. They’re lucky, is the point. They can handle a few press junkets like this. 

He helps himself to a free green room satsuma and tucks it into his pocket as he checks on Louis’ tea. The man in question is sprawled over the largest couch, leg up and out to rest it. He’s already worked out, two days in, how to use his injury to his advantage - Zayn is banished to the only armchair and Liam and Niall to the floor. To be fair, it has never taken much to get Harry to wait on him; he delivers Louis’ tea and perches on the sofa arm, but he’d have done that even if it didn’t take Louis much huffing and grumbling to work his way upright.

There’s a smart rap on the door, and then a blonde head pokes through. “Twenty minutes guys. Did you need anything?”

She’s pretty, Harry thinks absently as he shakes his head. She nods with a quick professional smile and withdraws - no gushing, no adoration. Which should be usual, this is a TV studio after all, but somehow they still seem to get a fair bit of ‘above and beyond’ attention. The absence of it is refreshing, attractive even. He smiles to himself. When did he develop a thing for those who don’t like him back? Ridiculous. 

“What’s that Curly?” He turns back to Louis, who’s frowning and waving the hand not holding tea in the air. “Oi, poke yourself in the face, I can’t reach.”

“Yeah, I’m not doing that,” he drawls. “Nothing, just-”

He’s interrupted by a clanging screech that sends his heart rate jackrabbiting upwards. He just sees the spill of hot tea over fingers, catches the shape of Louis’ lips forming ‘motherf-’, before the door opens again and the blonde head is back. 

“Fire alarm,” she shouts over the noise. “Gotta move boys, it’s not a drill!”

Liam is up already, dragging Niall to his feet and ushering him out, grabbing Zayn’s forgotten jacket as he goes. It’s only February, Harry realises, probably cold outside. Where’s Louis’ coat? They were expecting hot studio lights, not standing in a darkened car park on the outskirts of London, he’s only in a t-shirt.

“Boys!”

He spots it finally, half hidden under a cushion, and yanks it out. 

“Haz, get my-”

Oh. Louis is upright, hovering on one leg and holding onto the sofa for support, but he’s waving at his crutches, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. Niall had been trying them out. But Louis’ still not used to them, and they’d come through a labyrinth of corridors to make it to the green room. 

“Boys, we have to go _now.”_

It’ll take too long, he realises. He takes one long step, shoving the coat into Louis’ arms, and then sweeps him up. He’s not light by any means, but it’s doable and much quicker than waiting for Louis to settle his hands into the right grip of the crutches, then hobble and hop his way out. 

“Can you grab those crutches?” he asks of the blonde woman, not waiting for an answer before heading out. The other boys are ahead, and he follows in their path until the woman overtakes them and leads the way.

“Haz. Haz. Harry. Oi, Styles, mate-” 

Louis flicks him in the nose. He ignores him. His arms are starting to strain, but he’s okay, he can do this. 

“Harry, put me down. Oi, fucker. _Harry,_ put me _down_ -”

“You’re too slow Lou,” he mumbles, tightening his grip. Louis is starting to wriggle, which is all well and good when they’re play fighting - Harry might be bigger, marginally stronger, but Louis is squirmier - but not when the building is on fire and Harry might drop him on his already injured ankle. “Keep _still."_

“You are not carrying me out into a bleeding car park like some damsel in -” He cuts himself off, finally going still, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief. He might need to step up the gym visits. “Piggyback.”

“What?”

“I’ll let you carry me out piggyback.”

Well, that would save his arms. And this maze of corridors doesn't seem to be in any hurry to end. How big does a TV studio really need to be, anyway?

“Fine.” He stops short, carefully easing Louis to the floor. He bundles him up in his coat, stuffing arms through the sleeves while Louis glares at him, and then crouches. It’s not like Louis can really jump, but they make a half-hop work, and he catches Louis under the thighs, shifting him up into a more secure position. “‘S your leg alright?”

He can practically hear Louis’ eye roll. “It’s peachy, now giddy up.”

He grins and obeys, although his trot is more of a lope, keeping the movement as smooth as possible so as not to jolt Louis’ ankle. Finally they make it through a door to the outside; it is cold, Louis’ breath showing in little puffs that drift over his shoulder. He slows his pace, meandering over to the other boys now the danger has passed. Paul has come prepared with extra layers to combat the cold, and seems entirely unruffled to see Harry with Louis perched on his back, but then, he’s used to them. The blonde woman hands the crutches to Liam while talking into her headset and hurries off. 

He could put Louis down now. He probably should. He should get Louis situated with the crutches and then take one of Paul’s coats. The front of his shirt feels thin and useless against the frosty air. But Louis is slumped, comfortable and _still_ for once, a warm weight across his back with arms locked close around his neck, and they don’t know how long this will take. He can’t sit on the cold ground, and he doesn’t need to be stood on his leg for any longer than necessary. Not while Harry can hold him up, anyway.

He shuffles his feet, securing his grip, and finds his satsuma, only lightly squashed. Louis snuffles into his neck.

“D’you want me to get down?” he asks, words a warm exhale into his ear.

“Nah, you’re alright,” he whispers back. “Peel this for me?” 

Louis takes it, digging his nails into it and dropping the peel unceremoniously to the ground. He steals the first segment, then feeds the next to Harry. 

“You sure I’m not too heavy?”

“You’re fine,” he mumbles around another mouthful, studiously ignoring Zayn’s smirk. He’ll hold Louis as long as he needs him to.

\--

A month later, Louis is cleared for everything but dancing and football. He’s become strangely used to carrying Louis, it always seeming easier to haul him up than watch his painful fumbling with crutches. He’s lost count of the number of times Louis has hopped up onto his back, happy enough to let Harry cart him around, and he’d have felt taken advantage of except he really doesn’t mind. 

He doesn't mind so much, in fact, that he’s started to wonder if maybe he likes it. And not just the extra definition it's built in his arms, but there’s something in the clutch of Louis’ legs at his sides that he never dares examine too closely. It’s also so easy to talk like that, their heads pressed together so whispers stay private.

But now the crutches are gone. 

They’ve been out with the lads, just Zayn and Liam as Niall’s back in Ireland, but end up calling it a night early. Zayn’s got some photo shoot the next day, and apparently hungover isn’t a good look, so they leave just gone ten with Liam and Zayn bundling into a taxi. Their flat is only a few minutes’ walk away and the streets are quiet, so he and Louis wave the cab off and set out on foot. 

As the taillights fade away, Louis trips into Harry, his hands landing broad and warm on Harry’s waist before disappearing. “Sorry,” he laughs, staggering away a little. 

Harry’s eyes narrow. He knows Louis only had two beers - nowhere near enough for stumbling. Maybe he sneaked a few shots at the bar? He pushes closer, watching the way Louis’ eyes clear and his body turns, too aware for it to be drunken. Louis trips again, over nothing but air, and Harry catches him by the arm. Louis won’t meet his eyes, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks, and something clicks. He swallows.

“Want a lift?”

Louis nods. Harry ducks, the awkwardness dissolving in a sequence worn smooth by practice, and then he’s got a familiar weight settled once again across his back. Louis curls into him, no kicking legs or horse jokes this time, just holding on. His chin rests on Harry’s right shoulder, just like always, his breathing ruffling his hair. They’re not drunk, but neither are they one hundred per cent sober, so he wouldn’t swear to it - but he thinks he feels the lightest brush of lips across his neck.

It could be an accident. He’s pretty sure it wasn’t.

Okay then, he thinks, as he sets off on the short walk to their flat, his hands steadier than they feel wrapped securely around Louis’ thighs. Maybe Louis doesn’t _need_ to be carried anymore, but it seems perhaps he _wants_ to be. And if that's the case? Well. Harry’ll hold him as long as it lasts.


End file.
